


Little Hands

by Norsenightingale



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Breastfeeding, Childbirth, Domestic Fluff, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11020389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norsenightingale/pseuds/Norsenightingale
Summary: Ivar's new baby has such tiny hands...





	Little Hands

If Ivar could walk, he would be pacing to wear a hole in the floor; you were sure of it. He sat next to you on your shared bed, one hand on the top of your swollen stomach and the other clasped firmly around your own. You watched the worry etch into his pale features, his fingers grasping yours so tightly they were beginning to go numb. You brought your free hand to his face, gently smoothing the wrinkles that had settled in above his brow with your thumb.

“Ivar, my dear husband, will you please relax?” He scoffed but loosened his death grip on your fingers to allow you some relief. You sighed as he possessively rubbed over your stomach as if trying to calm the small child inside with just his touch. You had been feeling the tightening of your womb for several days but early this morning your waters had broken, throwing Ivar into a fit of worry and anguish.

He kissed your knuckles tenderly as he searched your eyes for any signs of distress. Upon finding none, he allowed himself to calm a bit and attempted to settle into some sort of normality while you waited for the healer to arrive.

“Are you feeling alright? Can you feel the baby?” He asked. You nodded, a smile on your face with the excitement of what was to come.

“I am perfect. The pains are not strong yet and the baby has settled down.” You placed a hand on his cheek and pulled his face to meet yours in a sweet kiss, bumping his nose playfully. He rested his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes with sheer adoration. “Are excited for him to be here?”

Ivar snorted, rubbing soothing circles across the expanse of your stomach once more. “Him? Why are you so sure it is a him?”

“I just have a feeling,” you shrugged your shoulders. “Though I certainly wouldn’t mind a little girl with big blue eyes to match her father’s.” He smiled at the thought, imagining a daughter that looked just look you but with his eyes. The daydream was quickly ended as you winced and adjusted yourself to relieve some of the pressure in your womb. Ivar rushed his hands to your hips, grabbing them firmly to help you change positions.

“What is it, Y/N? Is it the baby? What can I-“

“Shh…” you cut him off, “there is nothing you can do, and nothing is wrong.” He was fidgeting now, restless as he sensed your labor beginning to progress. “Please do not worry yourself,” you cooed. “Women have done this for hundreds of years before me, and will continue for hundreds after.”

Ivar tried to calm himself at your request, but couldn’t shake the tightening in his chest as he watched you breathe through the pain. You had heard countless horror stories from women in the village, and you assumed Ivar had too. They spoke of the immense pain, the amount of blood and, of course, the danger that was involved. Despite all of that, you were feeling relaxed and completely prepared for what was to come. An older woman interrupted your conversation, knocking only once before welcoming herself into the room.

“Ulla, what is the name of the Gods took you so long?” Ivar snapped. Ulla had been a trusted healer in the village for years and was very familiar with how the youngest son of Ragnar could behave. She waved off his comment, wasting no time to begin checking your progress.

“How are you feeling, Sweetling?” She asked, “Is the baby pressing down?” She placed a hand on your lower stomach, pushing gently to check the position of the child.

“I am feeling a bit uncomfortable now and yes, he is beginning to move down,” you confirmed. She hummed in thought and began digging through the pouch on her side, oblivious to how Ivar was eyeing her. Ulla busied herself preparing the tools she would need, not bothering to look at Ivar to tell him Ubbe was waiting in the center of the village.

“She is becoming close, so it is the father’s time to leave.” It was plain to see that Ivar was less than pleased with her command, but he knew that this was no time to argue. He approached you cautiously, threading his fingers through yours and pecking you smoothly on the lips.

“Will you be fine without me?”

“I am stronger than you give me credit for, Husband.” He leaned down to give you another kiss, his lips working slowly to try and show you all of the love and admiration he had for you. You smiled once he broke away and gave his hands a tight squeeze in reassurance, the message well received. “I love you, Ivar. Now go.”

**********************************

Several hours had now come and gone with Ivar becoming a growing mess, each passing with no news on your progress. He clenched his hand around a brass chess piece, slamming it down on the playing board as you cried out from another contraction.

“I can hear her crying from a mile away! What is happening? Why is no one telling me what is happening?”

Ubbe attempted to comfort the younger man, laying a strong hand on his shoulder with a shake. “She is bringing your child into the world, Brother, don’t you think it is her right to cry?” Ivar slumped down in his seat and placed his head in his heads, defeated. He looked up slowly at his brother, the weakness he was feeling glaringly obvious.

“I want to be there. I want to take away her pain and I cannot.” Ubbe knew how he was feeling. He had experienced similar guilt when Margrethe had their first child. He approached the subject cautiously, knowing that Ivar was quick to anger in times of stress.

“She is being watched over by many good people, and Y/N is a fierce woman. You have done all that you can, and now you need to leave it to the Gods.”

Several more hours passed before Ivar is startled awake by a shrill cry. He perked his ears, listening carefully to the sharp wail from a few cabins down.

“I hear the baby!” Ivar cheered, dropping his crutches in favor of crawling as it was much faster. He was just about to enter the front door of his home when he was stopped by Ulla, a large grin stretched across her face.

“Hello, Ivar. Ears of a hawk, I see.” He didn’t have time for the games she was playing, attempting to push past the old woman to check on you.

“She is finished, then? When can I see her? How is she?” Ulla quieted down the new father, chuckling at his excitement.

“Patience, Prince. There is much you don’t know about bringing life into the world, give her some time.” Ivar let out a growl from the back of his throat, his patience running dangerously low.

“It has been ten hours, I want to see my wife!” Ulla was just about to quiet him again when her apprentice stepped outside, whispering something to her and walking off. Ulla sighed, taking Ivar’s hands and squeezing them tightly.

“She is finished, you may go see her. Congratulations, Prince.” Ivar thanked her once, watching as she disappeared down the dirt path back towards town.

He had never before felt so nervous to enter his own home. His hands were shaking, the idea of what was waiting for him behind the door causing his heart to pound like a war drum. He steadied his breathing and pushed the door open just a crack to reveal you sitting up in bed. You were cooing to a small bundle pressed tightly to your chest, exhaustion but joy lighting your features. You smiled as you caught sight of your terrified husband and urged him closer with a tilt of your head.

“Hello there, Father,” you greeted, “would you like to meet your son?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You had been correct all along and now - he had a son. He crawled to the bed, lifting himself to sit next to you in the middle of it. Ivar pulled you carefully into his arms, studying the wiggling infant wrapped in blankets.

The little thing was a spitting image of himself, brown hair and blue eyes identical to his own. He swallowed hard around the lump rising in his throat, the thought of his twisted legs making him nervous all over again. He looked at you questioningly, fearing the worst scenario. You knew what he was thinking, and decided to unwrap the child so he could see for himself. A wave of relief washed over him as he watched the little boy kick and twist his legs around freely.

“He is perfect. Two strong legs that will serve him well the rest of his life.” If Vikings allowed themselves such emotions, Ivar would have wept at the happiness he felt to know that his son would not struggle as he had. He brushed a fingertip over his son’s tiny hands, laughing when he grabbed on tightly to the digit.

“His hands are so small, but he is strong. What name is fitting for a little warrior?” You cleared your throat, leaning on your husband’s shoulder as you watched him become aquatinted with his child.

“I’ve been thinking about Mathias - our gift from the Gods,” you spoke softly, “and Ragnar, for his grandfather.” Ivar was amazed at the suggestion, running his fingers gently over the little one.

“Mathias Ragnar Lothbrok. I like it, it’s fitting for a Viking Prince.” Just as you had decided on his name, Mathias began to cry. His wail startled his father and caused his eyes to widen in distress. You giggled as you took him from his father and began rocking slowly in your arms, cooing to shush his cries.

“It’s alright, little one. You must be hungry, hmm?” Ivar could feel his face flush at that, moving to excuse himself from the room.

“I will give you some privacy.” He was almost off the bed when you caught him with your free hand, pleading with him to stay.

“It is not like you to be bashful around me, do not start now.” You shifted the baby in your arms, trying to pull down the top of your night dress but struggling. “Besides, it appears I could use your help.”

Ivar was hesitant to touch you, but slowly tugged down the neckline of your gown with your encouragement. You tilted to allow your son to latch on to your newly exposed breast, scrunching your eyes at the initial strange sensation. As soon as the infant picked up a steady suckling, however, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Ivar couldn’t take his eyes from the amazing sight before him. He realized that you had never looked more beautiful than you did right now. He beamed at the peaceful scene, his little boy happily filling his tummy with the warm milk that you provided for him. It was almost - surreal.

“Does it hurt?” He tentatively asked, stroking the small boy’s cheeks as he drank.

“A bit, but I will adjust. Besides, at least this Lothbrok does not have teeth.” You smirked at your own joke and your husband chuckled at the innuendo. The three of you relaxed for a moment, letting your son nurse in silence before Ivar spoke up again.

“Was it,” he measured his words, “terribly painful? The birth, I mean?” You barked out a laugh at the ridiculous question, quieting yourself when the baby started to fuss at your chest.

“Oh my dear, your son was stubborn as his father, but it does not matter now. He is here, and I will recover in time.” Ivar nodded and kissed the top of your hair, pulling you closer in his strong arms. He smiled down at his wife and newborn son, his entire world held tightly to chest.

“Thank you,” he whispered into the strands on your head. You tilted a bit to look up at him, an eyebrow raised at the strange expression of gratitude.

“For what?”

He sighed, closing his eyes and simply enjoying the feeling of finally being part of a perfect, normal family.

“For giving me everything I do not deserve.”


End file.
